


And the Truth Shall Bury You

by fleet_of_red



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics)
Genre: Angst and Tragedy, Bruises, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death, Choking, Daddy Issues, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Gang Rape, M/M, Mind Control, Mind Rape, Pseudo-Incest, Temporary Amnesia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-09
Updated: 2019-05-25
Packaged: 2019-11-14 06:21:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18047192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fleet_of_red/pseuds/fleet_of_red
Summary: Black Mask has a sinister plan that will use Jason to destroy Batman permanently. None of them, least of all Jason, know just how far he will go to save Batman’s life.“I know who you really are, Red Hood, you’re the scourge of the Gotham underworld. You’ve killed before...and now, I’m going to free you from your tether to Batman.”





	1. Untether Me

**Author's Note:**

> Diverges right before Roman and Jason's fight in "Red Hood and the Outlaws" Rebirth. 
> 
> Creative liberties taken with the mind-control virus, reasons will be clear in subsequent chapters.

“Pay attention,” Roman Sionis barks from behind his desk. “I don’t like to repeat myself. I expect my men to not be so easily distracted, least of all someone who’s to be the successor to my empire.”

Jason blinks and stares at the masked crime lord in front of him.  _ What is he doing here?  _

It comes back to him like water dripping from a loose faucet.  _ Right _ . He’s working undercover so he can find the connection between Black Mask and the techno-organic virus used on the mayor. They are currently in the office on the uppermost floor of Sionis Industries and it seems like they are in the middle of a mission briefing. Yet, for the life of him, Jason cannot remember what was said just a moment prior. 

“Sorry, boss,” Red Hood shrugs, trying to undersell how unbalanced he is by the lapse in memory. “That Amazon must’ve punched me harder than I thought; that, or the knock-out gas is still affecting my head.”

“Well, don’t let that become a habit. You wouldn’t want to disappoint me, right?”

It’s difficult to read the other man’s expression when it’s hidden behind a mask, but Jason swears he can hear a hint of a tease behind those words. The young man forces a smile onto his face with a confidence he doesn’t feel and replies, “Not planning on it.” 

It’s subtle at first, the gaps in his memory. Maybe it’s just stress and sleep deprivation catching up to him. After all, it’s not easy playing the role of right-hand-man to a major crime boss while making sure he doesn’t break Batman’s rigid rules and upset his moral sensibilities. 

The equipment in his own hideout beneath the police station cannot match the state-of-the-art forensic and medical labs in the Batcave. Perhaps he should drop by and ask Alfred to give him a CT scan, after making sure Batman is conveniently away, of course. But no, he can’t risk blowing his cover. Not now, not when he’s gained Roman’s trust and is  _ so close  _ to catching him red-handed with the evidence of the conspiracy against the city. He’ll deal this after wrapping up the current mission. 

To his dismay, the chasms in his memory grow even wider; worse, they’re becoming filled with fragments of...delusions? Hallucinations? Daydreams? Whatever they are, his mind can’t latch onto the whole scene, only snippets. And even then, it’s like watching a grainy old film from a projector underwater, traces of scents and sensations overlaying on top of one another. 

A gloved finger traces between his bare shoulder blades down to the base of his spine, lingering there drawing lazy circles. His lips brushing against the smooth surface of something unyielding and without human warmth. A soft, cruel chuckle against the shell of his ear, and whispers of faded promises. He remembers pressing his cheek up against fine fabric and taking in the aroma of oiled-leather, earthy wine, and gunpowder.  

Jason doesn’t let these... _ distractions _ keep him from focusing on his true mission. And eventually, his patience is rewarded when Black Mask finally takes him to his secret armory and reveals to him his plans to remake Gotham in his vision.  _ Finally _ , the charade comes to an end and he can cap a bullet or two into Roman’s knee. 

“What the hell--” Jason watches as his pistols fall from limp fingers onto the floor with a loud metallic clatter. “What did you--” Then it hits him: the virus that was used to control the mayor. 

Now that the threat has been eliminated, Roman steps towards his defeated enemy and gloats with both arms out. “The question isn’t what, but when. I injected you with the virus when you were unconscious after retrieving the Superman clone.”

As if to demonstrate his newly revealed powers, Jason hears the other man’s voice directly in his mind ordering him to drop to his knees, and he instantly lands with a bruising thud. 

_ Artemis! _ Jason recalls that his circumstantial-ally was hiding nearby, eavesdropping for information on her mystical weapon. She can’t have gone far. They haven’t known each other for long, but if he can just get her attention somehow, he’s positive she will return to help. Jason tries to scream, but nothing comes out besides rough gasps of air. 

“Yes, you can talk, but no screaming...at least, not yet.” Roman explains to the young man kneeling before him, “As I was saying, you’ve been the perfect lab rat ever since, even if you don’t remember any of it.”

“An unintended, yet, beneficial side effect: the virus inhibits short term memory while the subject is being controlled. I could’ve had the mayor do my biddings with him none the wiser if you hadn't interfered. Alas, it seems like the human body eventually adapts to the chemical compounds and the effects of amnesia is reduced after some exposure. You might even find earlier memories resurfacing later...well, I hope you do.” 

Jason pales. All those stretches of time unaccounted for...all those little glimpses were actually memories? 

Black Mask waves his hand dismissively, “But don’t worry your pretty little head about the science of it, I doubt you’d understand. And it’s a shame about the Superman clone, really...I had planned on controlling it, but it seems that the virus is just not as compatible with Kryptonian physiology, nor with a mind as fractured as its was.”

  
That snaps Jason’s attention back to the man in front of him. “What did you do--”

“I have no use for a weapon broken as it was. Still, I can’t risk having it fall into the wrong hands, so naturally, I decommissioned it.”

_ No.  _ Jason had managed to reach out to the big guy; they had formed a connection! The overwhelming sense of loss doesn’t come as a surprise. He had planned on freeing Bizzaro from his confines after taking out Black Mask. He could’ve helped him. Perhaps they could’ve even been friends... _ Teammates. _

“You fucking monster--” 

“Oh please, that scientific experiment gone wrong had no reason to be alive in the first place,” Roman scoffs at Jason’s outpour of emotions. “But if it makes you feel any better, it didn’t suffer at the end. In fact, I’d say compare to the fate in store for you, its end was rather quick and merciful.”

Black Mask breaches the last of their distance. He’s so close now Jason can visualize reaching out and shattering his knee with a quick strike of his palm. Yet, he can only blink as Roman grabs a fistful of his hair and strain his neck upwards to face him. 

“Still, while you’re no Superman clone, you do have your uses.” Roman traces the back of one gloved-hand down the side of his face. “And who knew you could be so sweet and  _ eager _ to please.”

“What the fuck are you--” Jason’s words are cut off as Roman abruptly wraps his hand around his neck and squeezes, with none of the gentleness from a second ago. 

“Don’t you understand? I control you now. I can snuff you out right here and you wouldn’t be able to lift a finger to stop me,” Black Mask states with a maniacal glint in his eyes as he adds even more pressure to emphasize his point. Jason starts choking involuntarily, his eyes watering with the need for oxygen. “And you won’t believe the amount of self-restraint I practiced to not leave a mark on you until now.”

Just as dark spots are beginning to dance across his vision, Roman releases him. Jason drops forward, gasping and sputtering, an angry red bruise already forming around his pale throat. 

“That’s a nice color on you, Red,” Roman coos, stepping back to admire his work. “Oh, I’m so glad we can finally stop with all this pretense and be truthful to one another.”

\-----------------------------

During his tenure as Roman’s right-hand-man, Jason’s made more than enough snide remarks about the standard S&M-styled gimp masks that Black Mask and his henchmen wear; well, turns out the joke is on him. If he has to describe the room they’ve dragged him into, he’d call it a very well-equipped sex dungeon. Really, he could just  _ giggle _ at the absurdity of Roman fulfilling such a stereotype...but he just can’t summon the strength. 

“Start stripping,” the voice commands. 

His arms move in a glacial pace as he shrugs off his leather jacket, but his mind is racing to find a way to escape. Jason lets the jacket drop to the floor and proceeds to remove his flexible, armored shirt, stretching it over his head carefully. 

“Hold it for me?” Jason asks with a coy tone and half a smile. He holds the shirt in an outstretched hand with the red bat symbol outwards, tempting Roman to reach for it.  

The man didn’t even move an inch. “What, and get zapped? I was there when you fought the Amazon, remember? Jesus, Jason, you must’ve thought you were running circles around me the entire time,” he tuts with disdain.

_ Fuck. Well, it was worth a shot.  _

“And hurry the fuck up,” Roman rolls his eyes. “I’ve already seen the goods.” Jason shoots him a dirty look but picks up his speed as he strips off the rest of his gears. Despite himself, a flush creeps up his face as he stands there naked in front of his enemy. 

“And? Did you sample the _ goods _ as well?” Jason scoffs with disgust. The thought of Roman’s fingers on him sparks off goosebumps on his skin. 

“It must really bother you, huh, Red? That you don’t remember what happened?” Black Mask takes off his suit jacket with deliberate ease and adds it to the pile of clothing on the ground. He then casually rolls up the sleeves of his shirt to bare his forearms. 

Jason snaps back, “Maybe I don’t remember because there’s nothing  _ worth  _ remembering.” He half expects to earn a slap in exchange for the snark, but the other man chuckles instead. 

“That mouth of yours has gotten you into plenty of trouble, hasn’t it? Well, let me enlighten you,” Roman exhales a little sigh as if trying to recapture the scene in his mind. “Picture this: you on your back with your thighs spread widely apart, stroking yourself for my viewing pleasure. You were almost in tears just begging,  _ screaming _ for me to touch you, bend you over and  _ take _ you. Oh, Red, you wanted it bad.”

“Fuck you!” Jason roars, his face distorting in fury. “You were controlling me! You’re delusional if you think you know what I want!”

Black Mask circles behind him just out of his peripheral and whispers into his ear, “Oh, but imagine how many opportunities I had to learn your every quirk. For example, I know you’re extremely ticklish here...”

He flicks the tip of his tongue against the delicate skin behind Jason’s ear, and the young man shudders and fails to suppress a whimper. 

“And I also know that you’re just yapping non-stop because you’re scared out of your mind...not that I blame you,” Roman says, stepping back into his view. “But, I barely touched you, despite how tempting you were. Couldn’t risk leaving a mark and end our play-pretend prematurely, right?”

The young man’s chest heaves with apprehension as he realizes how helpless the situation is. Jason shut his eyes in frustration. “F-for the record, not that there should be  _ any _ doubt...but, I don’t want this.” 

“Want what?”

Jason’s eyes glisten with humiliation as he spits out the words, “--you fucking me.”

“Oh, is that what you think is about to happen here?” Roman rakes his eyes over Jason’s body and smirks. “I mean, I could,  _ easily _ ; but where’s the challenge in that? Jason, I’m not going to fuck you until you  _ beg _ me for it, nicely...without any of this ‘mind interference’. I want you to remember _ everything _ about our first time.”

“That’s very romantic and all, but you’re hardly my first, Roman. Or were you hoping I’d be a blushing virgin?”Jason sneers. It’s stupid to provoke his captor who holds the rein in more ways than one, but he can’t help but lash out in the only way he still can. 

“Right, like I would expect someone like you to have an ounce of virtue left,” Black Mask shakes his head and chuckles. “But don’t worry, sweetheart, I find a certain appeal in just how damaged and broken you are.” 

He leans in and kisses him through the open slit of the gimp mask, and Jason can’t stop the icy zippers from scraping against his lips nor the scalding tongue darting into his mouth, savoring him. 

“And I can’t wait to leave my own marks on you,” Romans breathes fondly after parting from the kiss. He lowers his gaze towards the pile of discarded clothing on the ground, eyes lingering over the emblem of the red bat. “But first, there’s something I’ve been wondering: just who are you working for?”

“No one; I don’t take anyone’s orders.” 

“Yeah, except for mine,” the crime lord taps on Jason’s forehead with a finger. “But let’s ignore that for the moment. Something just doesn’t add up. What does Red Hood have to gain from working undercover for me? Why go through all this trouble? It’s more your style to snipe me from afar or make a big show of it, isn’t it? Or, at least that’s the image you’ve worked so hard to build.”

“Just spit it out, Roman, I’m too tired to play your games.”

“Fine, I’ll ask clearly: are you working for Batman? Is that why you’re hands are tied, so to speak?”  

Roman traces a finger over a particularly dark bruise on his neck and Jason flinches. “What exactly is he to you?”  _ Tell me the truth _ \--again that soothing voice probes the back of his mind like tendrils.

It’s mentally draining to just think through the question while his mind is shrouded in a purple haze. And as much as Jason wants to,  _ needs  _ to tell the truth, it’s difficult to find the right words to describe just who Batman is to him. 

As a child, he thought Batman had hung the moon, a shadow of brutal strength and liquid power wrapped in layers mystery. He thought the day he first donned his Robin costume was the best day of his life, instead of the binding contract that no child could fully comprehend.

It took him dying to realize that Batman was as mortal as the next man, a hypocrite who failed Gotham by being unable to do what it requires. His savior and condemner all in one; teacher, partner, father, and everything in between. The man represents the only true  _ home _ he knows, one he’s desperate to return to even if it means going against his own beliefs. 

“As you said before, Roman,” Jason considers his words carefully, “Batman is someone I’m tethered to. That’s all.”

“Well, that’s one way to put it, but y’know what I think? Perhaps, you were one of his colorful little birds?” He chuckles as blood drains from Jason’s face. “Tell me, how  _ does  _ he lure impressionable boys to do his bidding? It’s the flashy cape and the fancy car, isn’t it? And he prefers them young and replaced you with a newer model, is that it?”

“You’re sick in the head,” Jason growls but refuses to meet his eyes. 

“Sure, but that doesn’t mean I’m wrong.”

A loud knock on the door interrupts the two and they hear a low grumble, “Boss, you called?”

The door opens with a hiss and four men step in, each wearing a black suit and a gimp mask not dissimilar to the one on Roman’s face. The boss gestures to the young man standing naked in the middle of the room, “Finally! Gentlemen, I don’t need to reintroduce you to the Red Hood.”

It’s difficult to look anything but vulnerable, yet Jason still straightens slightly and glares from his humiliating position. 

“Sorry, sweetheart,” Roman apologizes without an ounce of sincerity. “I never said you’re completely off limits to anyone else.” 

The men begin to crowd around the nude young man and one of them whistles,  “Damn, who knew he was so pretty under that mask?”

“Touch me and I’ll kill you,” Jason warns, baring his teeth.

The men laugh. One struts forward and asks, “You were his favorite, what ya do, finally got on boss’ nerves or he just bored with you now?” 

Jason’s heart spikes as the men openly discuss amongst themselves who gets to fuck him first or if they should just do it all at once. He glares Roman, hoping to find a sign that this is just a cruel joke, call his bluff somehow. The other man returns the look with a casual tilt of his head and waits, and that’s when Jason knew. 

For a moment, he almost considers asking Roman to call his men away, to accept the unspoken offer and tell him what he wants to hear--that he’d rather have him instead, willingly. _ Damn him! _ If Roman thinks he can be cornered into choosing one evil over the other, then he doesn’t know him as well as he thought. 

There’s small comfort in getting to choose your own fate, abet, it’s a very small one in this case. Jason twitches by reflex as the first set of hands grab his shoulder, forcing him onto his knees. A foot nudges his thighs apart, and as much as he tries to resist, his body simply won’t obey him. 

“Don’t worry, baby,” Roman crouches down to admire the exquisite pain across Jason’s face. “I’ll be with you ‘til the end.” 

It isn’t until the first man had cum that Jason realizes he can move of his own free will. He had gotten so used to being controlled that he simply just stopped resisting at one point. 

With his now freed hand, he punches the nearest masked face, feeling the soft cartilage in the man’s nose twist and break against his knuckles. The man crashes backwards in a yelp of pain. Jason whips around to elbow another, but all strength bleeds out as he hears, “okay, that’s enough.” 

He whimpers and drops to the ground, stunned, and the man with the broken nose grips his hair and slaps him across the face. The next man who thrusts into him did so with much more brutality in retaliation for fighting back. When Jason feels the grasp around his mind loosening again, he just closes his eyes and ignored the mockery of hope being dangled in front of him.  _ Games. Just games with Black Mask,  _ he repeats the mantra to himself. Either way he loses, but he can also refuse to participate. 

Then Roman switches tactic and applies and releases control of his mind like he’s squeezing a stress ball. Jason feels like he’s bobbing up and down the surface of water; one second, a purple haze devours his mind and numbs him like he’s drowning, the next, an excruciating blast of clarity where he gains awareness of all sources of pain and brief control over himself...only to lose it without warning as he’s pulled under again. 

This cycle repeats several times and the whiplash between being controlled and being set free churns his insides in a way that has nothing to do with the four men fucking him. He just wants to curl up and beg for it to stop, but failing to do either, he only succumbs to it all. 

“Why don’t you show these boys a good time, sweetheart? Let your inner whore out?” the voice suggests, and the next moment, Jason hears himself moan in a way that would make a porn star blush. 

All the sensations intensify until he’s embraced by a bright warm glow. He can still feel the rough fingers tweaking his nipples and the cock slamming against his prostate, but there’s only pleasure; no pain. His own hardness stirs and throbs from the stimulation as he thrusts backwards onto the man behind him and whines in a high-pitch, “Oh god, yes! Don’t stop—fuck me harder!” 

At seeing the new surge of enthusiasm, another man steps forward and shoves his cock between his lips, gripping his hair for leverage. Jason starts sucking feverishly as if in a trance, doing his best to please the men around him even as the hard shaft plunges in and out of his throat without mercy. “Damn,” one man groans, “I hope the boss’ll let us keep you after.” 

It doesn’t take long for the man to pull out and shoot strings of cum all over Jason’s face, sticking his eyelashes together. Words bypass rational thought and Jason screams without inhibition, “Yes, fucking drown me in your cum. Just fucking wreck me!” He reaches frantically, blindly for another warm body and pulls them closer.

In between all the hard flesh and with his eyes glued half-shut, Jason sees Roman just standing off to the side, his expression impossible to read. Noticing his gaze, Black Mask walks over and wipes a drop of cum off the corner of Jason’s eye as if it were a tear. Roman’s voice is calm, without a hint of mockery even at the sluttish display before him. He whispers, “Baby, you might not understand it now, but I’m actually doing you a favor.”

Jason might have burst out laughing then. He doesn’t remember.  

\----------------------

 

_ Bright lights.  _ Bright lights are the first thing Jason notices when he comes to again. Two sources, one on both sides of him. He notices he’s fully dressed again, from head to tie, his guns in his hands. Judging from the weight alone, he knows they are fully loaded. For a moment, he wonders if he’s been dreaming again, but the bruises around his neck and the soreness from other places on his body suggest otherwise. 

He doesn’t even know if he’s being controlled now. His knuckles remain unresponsive when he tries to flex them, but that could also be because he’s exhausted. The scent of sweat and cum has been replaced by soap and disinfectant. In fact, the tips of his bangs are still moist against his forehead. Evidently, they washed him up, but what for? 

“Please, we were just following orders!” 

Almost dreamlike, Jason turns and notices the row of men kneeling off to the side, just a few feet away from him. He blinks once, then twice. He remembers a scene similar to this when he first joined Black Mask and the mob boss asked him to execute four henchmen that had failed him. He thought he had narrowly escaped suspicion back then, even without killing the men, but that wasn’t the case. Black Mask had always known; he was just playing more mind games. 

“You did warn them,” a distorted voice announces. He strains his mind to focus on the source of the voice and sees Black Mask behind a panel of glass in a small room full of electronic equipment. Jason would bet the Wayne fortune that the glass is bulletproof. “You said you’d kill them if they touched you,” Roman repeats into the microphone. 

The four sobs even louder, their earlier bravado completely evaporated just like their pride. Jason can smell the stench of fear radiating off them. They are still wearing masks, but Jason can recognize them by their voices. He recalls the way these men pried him apart and a part of him hungers for their death...his mind longs for it,  _ sings _ for it. 

But...he can’t. He made a promise to  _ Him _ . He takes a deep breath and exhales slowly with his eyes closed. “Do your own dirty work yourself, Roman.” 

Black Mask scoffs and shakes his head. “Are you listening to yourself? Drop your act of a bad guy pretending to be a good guy pretending to be a bad guy. I know who you really are, Red Hood.” Jason grimaces, but Roman keeps going. 

“You’re the scourge of the Gotham underworld. You’ve killed before. Tales of your bloody killing spree is still whispered among the darkest parts of the city. What happened to that man?” 

Then Roman softens his voice as he gestures to the four henchmen. “I’m trying to make it easier for you to cross the line again, this time for good. I’m going to free you from your tether to Batman, and maybe, just maybe you can finally become what you were meant to be. And that, that is the Red Hood I want by my side.”

Four gunshots echo in the confines of the room, its deafening noise reverberating together until they sound as one. Even considering the recoil, the bullets hit its targets straight on, a gaping hole in the heads of each men kneeling on the ground. Jason stares at the extended pistol with something like fascination. The bodies slump forward limply as a pool of dark red spread beneath them, reflecting the bright spotlights nearby. 

“Great, that angle was perfect,” Black Mask approves as he reviews the recorded video clip and turns off the camera. “And now...now we are going to destroy Batman.”


	2. Dreams and Nightmares

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Batman follows his detective's instincts and retraces his steps back to Jason.

What started off as a pleasant dream, erotic in nature, soon morphs into a nightmare. Bruce Wayne is a floating specter in his own dreamscape as he watches a twisted version of _Batman_ —more beast than man—roam on all fours up the side of a skyscraper. Its armor flexes like skin over rippling muscle, and its tattered cape billows behind it like a force of nature. It turns its snout skywards to sniff for evil, then it finds a target.  

It wraps its cape around Joker, twisting and squeezing the clown until his laughter turns into howls of pain and eventually, silence. The cape unfurls and out drops a pale, dried corpse with limbs broken into a hundred different joints. Joker is only the first. The _Dark Knight_ then bashes Penguin’s head in with its bare fists until shards of skull and brain matter splatter onto its cowl. Then Black Mask, Two Face, Ivy and countless other criminals he’s faced in the past are caught by its sharp teeth and torn into shreds. Still, their deaths are not enough to satisfy its craving for _justice_.

_No_ , Bruce whispers, as his allies and his family appear, each with a grim determination on their face as they get ready to apprehend _Batman_. It’s their duty after all. It’s what they have been trained to do when the worst case scenario happens. They cannot stop it. One by one the people Bruce had sworn to protect fall and disappear within its darkness. With every person it consumes, it grows bigger, blobulous, liquid darkness now protruding beyond armor.

The _Dark Knight_ thrashes in a howl of pain that shakes the earth, then it turns towards Bruce and comes for him. He runs. He reaches a pile of broken bodies, indistinguishable from one another, and begins climbing. His feet sink into the bloody mass with every step he takes and the top remains elusive. A piece of _Batman_ ’s cape shoots out and wraps around his ankle, burning the skin it touches before dragging him back. Bruce opens his mouth to scream, but dark ooze enters his throat, suffocating him, engulfing him, until he too becomes one with the creature.

Bruce sits up with a jolt, muscles tense for battle, only to find himself in his luxurious four-poster bed in the Wayne Manor. The sunlight peering between the heavyset curtains is low on the horizon, reddish in hue. It’s most likely late in the afternoon. He closes his eyes and fills his lungs with air, holding it in then exhaling slowly, centering himself. The rush from the nightmare subsides with each heartbeat.

He doesn’t dream often, but when he does, he never lets them influence his mood or distract him from his purpose. After all, he’s a man of logic and reason, dreams do not hold sway in his mind. There are things that concern him more than the fictitious product of the subconscious—for example, the drips of saline from the IV bag which he traces to the back of his hand, and a heart rate sensor on his finger attached to a steadily beeping monitor.

Something is wrong, he can feel it down to his very core. Without flinching, he unhooks the sensor and needle and slides off the bed.

After a quick self-examination, he finds only superficial bruises and general soreness not uncommon from a night out in patrol. There’s nothing out of the ordinary physically, but his mind is hazy, disjointed...similar to the lingering effects of a concussion or even Scarecrow’s toxins, but not exactly the same.

A firm knock resonates against the bedroom’s heavy oaken doors and Bruce voices an acknowledgment. Alfred enters and the sight of his oldest ally puts him at ease. With refined movements from years of experience, the man closes the door while carrying a tray holding a bowl of soup and a selection of seasonal fruit.

“Thank goodness, Master Bruce, you’re awake. How do you feel?”

“Like someone took an egg beater to my brain,” he confesses. “I don’t remember how I got back here...”

The elderly butler hesitates, “Perhaps we should wait until we get you cleared by Dr.Thomson before—“

“Alfred,” Bruce grimaces, “I need to know what happened.”

The deep sigh from Alfred is one of resignation, not surprise.

“Very well, sir. While you were on patrol two nights ago, I received a set of encrypted coordinates sent to the Batcomputer. As you know, not many have access to send direct messages to the cave without prior authorization. The coordinates was attached to a short message that simply read: ‘pick up B’. I had lost radio contact with you earlier that evening, so without further ado, I proceeded to the location…”

“Go on,” Bruce prompts.

“Well, I followed the coordinates to what I can only surmise is, or was, Master Jason’s safehouse. It appeared to be ransacked. I found you incapacitated in a chair but otherwise unharmed. I took you back and you’ve been asleep until now.”

Alfred furrows his brows in concern and pauses briefly before asking, “Sir, is he...is Master Jason alright? Did a fight break out between you two?” The word, ‘again’, was left unsaid.  

“Where’s Jason?” Bruce asks, ignoring his question.

“I don’t know, sir. Master Jason was not in the safehouse...although, admittedly, I did not search very hard as I was concerned with your condition.”

Bruce squeezes his eyes shut as he tries to retrieve the events from the cobwebs of his mind.  

 

\----------Two nights ago

Batman is soaring over Gotham on a routine patrol when he picks up radio chatter from the GCPD frequency. A homeless man found four corpses in a large commercial dumpster near the port, on the other side of the city. Commissioner Gordon and a small team of first responders were already on site when he lands at the scene. He drops down beside them unannounced, and Gordon, having expected his arrival, greets him with a silent nod.

The man gestures for Batman to follow him. As they approaches their destination, they can hear the sound of a cop puking from the sight of the bodies. The commissioner shakes his head and commits the rookie’s name to memory. He then gives his investigation team a look and they shuffle off to the side, allowing Batman to examine the crime scene himself.

Over the years, Gordon and Batman have developed an unspoken, unofficial partnership, especially in cases that might involve criminals hiding behind legitimate business fronts. The offenders usually have deep pockets to retaliate or bribe the right officials, but the Dark Knight doesn't heed those red tapes nor does he answer to any men.

Batman crouches down to examine the victims now laid out in a row on the ground. The corpses are in state of advanced decomposition, perhaps 2-3 days judging by the current temperature and humidity. All four men had their fingerprints burned off with chemicals, but those wounds are much older than their cause of death. Other than that, there are very little attempts to hide their identities, and even Gordon reaches the correct conclusion.

“The suits and masks—they're in line with what we’ve seen from Black Mask’s organization,” the commissioner notes, his mustache bristles grimly. “Perhaps Black Mask did it himself? The crime lord does have a habit of dispatching the henchmen that failed him. Not unusual. Mob bosses in Gotham don’t exactly shy away from taking matters into their own hands. Or do you think it’s related to the gang war?”

“Whoever it is, they’re trying to make a statement,” he confirms. “The cause of death is a single bullet in each head causing instant death. No doubt the killer is a professional marksman. No obvious signs of struggle or trauma associated with torture—most likely, these men were taken off guard by an unexpected captor.”

“Perhaps, we will need more—”

“Sir,” a young GCPD officer interrupts Gordon. “This was found in one of their pockets. Our tech just finished scanning it for malware, and it’s clear.”

There is a blood-stained USB key in her hand and she passes it to Batman after the commissioner nods once with implicit approval.

Batman takes the USB and downloads its content—a single video file—onto the portable tech built into his suit. He projects a blue-tinted screen from his gauntlet allowing Gordon to view it as well. The video is barely a minute long, but Bruce cannot breathe until it is over.

The short clip shows Jason without his mask killing—no, executing four unarmed men in cold blood. The victims’ appearances match the four bodies they found.

There’s no audio attached and Batman can’t read the lips of the men Jason murdered with their masks on, but it is clear that they were begging for their lives. On the screen, the young man’s pale face stands out in contrast under his dark mop of hair, his eyes are clear if oddly distant as if he’s unaware of the camera. The scene was set up with careful consideration. Bright spotlights lit the set and the video is steady, likely filmed with a professional-grade camera on a tripod.

Once the video ends, Batman immediately runs the file through a program designed to scan for visual markers that would indicate if a video has been edited. A million thoughts races through his mind, but he keeps his expression blank; even with the cowl covering most of his features, he doesn’t want to risk revealing anything with the commissioner standing right beside him.

“Looks like Red Hood, judging by the rest of his outfit minus the mask,” Gordon observes, adjusting the spectacles on his face for a clearer look. “Hmm...‘though he appears younger than I expected. You two fought before, think this is him?”

Gordon doesn’t know that Red Hood had, in fact, shot the mayor with the antidote to the techno-organic virus. In order for Jason’s cover to work and for him to find the evidence linking the virus to Roman Sionis, they _had_ to bury the truth. The commissioner also remains in the dark about Jason and Batman’s shared past and their “no-killing” agreement in exchange for Red Hood to operate freely in Gotham.

There are a lot of things about the ex-Robin that Batman has not shared with the commissioner, and he would like to keep it that way. Jason is and has always been his responsibility. And no offense, but if the GCPD somehow corners Red Hood to bring him down, it will only end in a blood bath.

“I can’t be sure, not without more evidence,” he answers the other man, even as the program completes its scan of the video, showing that it has been unmodified.

Normally, Batman would weight all the evidence at hand before making an informed decision, but when it comes to his former sidekick who already had a history of stepping over the line, it is difficult to remain objective. Bruce can already feel the heat of righteous anger starting to simmer inside him. Truth is, a part of him has always been ready for this day, the day that Jason would break his promise.

Perhaps Jason didn’t know he was being filmed and was just obeying Black Mask’s orders. Like Gordon said, nothing out of the ordinary for a criminal to kill their own in this city. Waves of other possibilities crash onto the shores of his mind, unrelenting and vicious. Maybe Jason had no choice but to kill in order to maintain his cover...Or maybe he never had any intention of keeping his promise to him after all.

“I’ll deal with this,” Batman says, turning to the commissioner one last time before disappearing into the shadows. “Trust me.”

 

\---------Present time

“Master Bruce?” Alfred asks, concern written all over his face. Bruce snaps out of his thoughts of the crime scene even as the same anger and determination from two nights ago breathe fire into his veins.

_My city. My rules. You get one strike, Jason. If I think for an instant you’re in too deep_ — _I’m pulling you out. If you take one life_ — _for whatever reason...I’m coming for you._

Those are the last words he said to Jason before he went undercover. Bruce never intended to use his help against Black Mask—it was too risky for myriads of reasons—but he knew if he didn’t sanction it, Jason would go do it anyway without his approval. He knew that his wayward son sees this mission as an attempt to re-earn his trust, and misguided as it was, it was difficult to take that opportunity away from him. After reminding him of their deal, he gave him his permission.

Bruce pinches the bridge of his nose and grimaces. It’s his fault. Again, he tries to pull on the tangled threads of his memory to try and remember what happened after he left the crime scene, but Alfred interrupts him again.

“Sir, there’s something else you need to know…” the old butler says bleakly. “A police report was sent out hours after I brought you home. There was an incident of arson at the headquarters of Sionis Industries, and they discovered a burnt corpse they suspect belonged to Roman Sionis.”

 

\--------

Bruce isn’t a fool, he _knows_ he should run tests to uncover the cause for his mental disarray, or at least ensure the gaps in his memory won’t hinder combat abilities...but those take time and that’s a luxury not even _he_ can afford right now.

It is _his_ responsibility to bring Jason to justice, and by his count, his ex-sidekick has had two days of head start. With his training, he could be anywhere, and the trail will likely go cold fast. If he’s going to confront him for the murder of the four unarmed men and potentially Black Mask as well, then he has no choice but to act now.

His fingers fly over the keyboard as he accesses the Bat-computer for Red Hood’s known allies: Roy Harper and Koriand’r.

Arsenal is last seen in Star City and Starfire is still off world. They _might_ shelter their old teammate, but neither are good liars and he doubts Jason would reach out lest they get dragged down by him for something they don’t condone.

Jason might be merciless with criminals, but he’s always had a surprisingly soft spot for his teammates—a fact, a weakness that Batman is prepared to exploit if needed, but not just yet. Jason doesn’t have access to a reliable method of space travel, but Star City is just far away enough from Gotham to provide an illusion of safety.

Batman pings Green Arrow and asks him to check on Roy’s known safehouses, in case they’re harboring his friend, potentially without his knowledge. Batman requests this without giving Oliver any unnecessary details, but his fellow Justice League member has known him long enough to understand how he operates and after an exasperated sigh has agreed to help without knowing the reason.

Another task down, Bruce leans back into his chair and contemplates. He doubts Jason would reach out to anyone in the family, not when their morality and loyalty lies with Batman first and foremost. Sure, under normal circumstances, the family would help and fight alongside Jason—whether he has asked for it or not—but not this...not when he’s killed again.

In fact, Bruce is sure Jason’s brothers would agree to help apprehend him if only to stop his self-destructive actions from making things worse. But their involvement would just introduce unknown variables into the equation. If anything, the sight of them fighting alongside Batman might just kick Jason off to the deep end.

Besides, he doesn’t want to drag anyone else into a high-risk mission. He would like to say without a doubt that Jason wouldn’t hurt anyone in the family, but then he remembers the half-crazed look in his eyes after his first return to Gotham and the rampage he left behind in the name of vengeance.

Batman dons his cape and cowl and by the time he reaches Sionis Industries, it’s already nightfall. The entire building is on lockdown, and other than a few police officers by the main entrance, the place is deserted. Seems like the explosion and subsequent fire caused irreplaceable damages to the building’s structural integrity.

According to the blueprint of the building, Sionis’ office and personal suite are on the uppermost floor. Batman grapples to the seventh floor and bypasses the guarded entrance without an issue. From there, he proceeds upwards from the interior of the building, scanning for evidence as he goes. As he approaches the upper levels, he notices a loose ventilation shaft cover and realizes he’s been here before. He goes in, crouching low, and starts retracing his own footsteps back to Sionis’ office and recalls the events the last time he was here.

 

\---------Two Nights Ago

Batman scans the large office for traps from the hidden enclosure in the ventilation shaft; there are none. Alas, his cautious approach is pointless, the occupants of the room are already aware of his arrival. He kicks the cover open and drops down to face Black Mask, who has enthroned himself behind his desk. Then he makes eye contact with Red Hood, who is lounging on the edge of the desk with his legs hanging off the side.

“Finally! What took you so long?” Red Hood groans and hops down to his feet in a cat-like manner, languid and lithe. Like in the video, he isn’t wearing any headgear, and Batman can see his expression is one of mild boredom. Jason turns to Black Mask and complains, “Told you we should’ve dumped those bodies in front of the police station.”

“Mind your manners, Jason,” Black Mask chides with amusement. “Batman’s a guest!”

Their tone and body language seem to suggest they’re working together, one of the worst possible scenarios. Batman can feel icy displeasure rising to a boil within him. Good, he might need it to fuel him for what’s to come. He narrows his eyes as he growls, “Red Hood!”

If he was a normal criminal, the low, thunderous voice would’ve struck fear into his heart, but the young man only throws his head back and laughs. “Seriously, you gotta stop with the aliases and clean out your pointy ears. Roman just called me by my name.”

Then there is just a hint of contempt in his voice even as the smile remained on his face. “ _I_ told him my name _._ Just as I told him how I used to be your overworked, underappreciated sidekick until you traded me in for a newer one.”

Batman shoots a glance at Black Mask who remains behind his desk with no reaction to Jason’s revelation. Whether or not those words are a lie, the lack of response from the crime lord seems to indicate him knowing the information beforehand.  

The idea disturbs him. If Jason really did offer the information about his past as Robin, what else did he say? Beyond its strategic value, that information is also deeply personal and not without painful memories attached. He can feel his muscles tensing in anticipation as he shifts his center of gravity, preparing for a fight.

In response, Jason’s eyes sparkle with something like playfulness as he unholsters one gun from his thigh. He cocks his head to one side and goads, “It’s been a while since our last dance, old man. Think you can still keep up?”

“Enough joking around, tell me something only Jason would know,” Batman bellows. Like with the incident involving Hush and Clayface years back—just because the person before him looks and sounds like Jason, doesn’t mean it actually is him. And while Black Mask hasn’t been known to associate with meta-humans with shapeshifting abilities, he can’t rule that out either.  

“Always so paranoid,” Jason scoffs and shakes his head. He swirls his gun once, treating it like a toy, which only infuriates Batman further. “Would blurting out your identity satisfy your request, _Batman_? I mean, I could...but even that’s not as closely guarded a secret as this…”

The young man crosses his arms, gun still in hand, and reminisces with a dreamy look on his face. “November, 4 years ago, someone put a live RDX explosive with lead Azide underneath the Batmobile. Gelatin adhesive, eight inches behind the back of the left tire, right next to the fuel lines. Recall something like that, old man?”

Batman freezes. The night he discovered the bomb had rattled him to the core. When the Batmobile is idle, it’s impossible to approach the car without being detected—it can sense you on thermal, air currents, video recognition. There are safeguards on top of safeguards, though not impossible to overcome, it requires someone with intimate knowledge of the car’s various defenses and the resources and know how to break it.

Back then, only Alfred, Dick, and Jason knew about the Batmobile’s defense mechanisms, and Jason had died by Joker’s hands years prior. Batman’s life was literally in someone else’s hands, but for the first time in his life, he couldn’t come up with a single lead to the culprit. Days, he spent days agonizing over who or what had put the bomb there, and when he failed to arrive at a conclusion, he re-rigged the entire security features of the car _and_ the cave. He never told Alfred or Dick about the bomb.

“Wet suit with reflective fibers,” Jason explains with a pleased grin. “Plus, a lot of time to move slowly towards the car, which I had by sending you off on false intel spread by low-lifes in Gotham. Hey, don’t give yourself a hard time, old man, it was a lot of hard work on my part to pull it off.”   

“So why didn’t you do it?” Batman asks, crestfallen. “You planned everything out, why not kill me then?”

“Because, _Batman_ ,” Jason hisses, his voice now laced with resentment as he aims the gun at him. “You did not deserve such an easy death. When you die, it will be with agony and the full knowledge of who’s pulling the trigger.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is sponsored by: Flashbacks! 
> 
> The bomb under the Batmobile happened as described during "Red Hood: Lost Days"  
> The imposter Jason incident with Clayface occurred during the climax of "Batman: Hush" 
> 
> [Twitter](https://twitter.com/fleet_red) and [Tumblr](https://fleet-of-red.tumblr.com/)


	3. Wayfinding Touchstones

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “They’re touchstones. A way to keep track of where you’ve been...so you don’t lose your way to where you’re going.” --Batman explaining the purpose of the trophies in the Batcave, RHatO Rebirth issue #1.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Reposting because I accidentally uploaded the wrong version previously. It should now include the scenes in Jason's hideout)

 

 

This isn’t the first time he’s fought Jason, not by a long shot.

Even after all this time, Bruce can still remember the exact moment the mysterious Red Hood removed his helmet to reveal the face of his _dead_ son.

“Your worst nightmare back to haunt you, old man,” Jason taunted in that smug, lopsided-grin of his right before they fought on the rooftops of Gotham while icy rain drenched them.

He was right, of course, but not for the reason he thought. How many times has Bruce woken up screaming from nightmares of him cradling Jason’s cold body in his arms? Always, always failing to save him in time. He’s even had dreams of seeing the ex-Robin appear as a ghost or a half-rotten corpse blaming him for his death, cursing the day he took him in and trained him to be a soldier in a war that will never end. Compare to those dreams, reality was kinder.

Bruce had welcomed those nightmares; relished the pain and guilt and allowed it to fill his lungs like oxygen. Like the glass case in the Batcave displaying Jason’s old Robin uniform, it’s a constant reminder of his failure but also a vow of never letting it happen again. It fueled him and drove him past physical pain and sleep deprivation as he continued his crusade.

Then Jason came back to life and became more than just a reminder the past. Despite that, the nightmares of Jason dying, dead, did not go away. Sometimes, Bruce even dreams that he’s the one that kills him.

 

\-----------2 days ago in Sionis Industries

 

This is an ugly fight. Bruce is still rattled from the video of Jason killing the four unarmed men, the revelation behind the bomb under the Batmobile, and the realization that Jason is now working with Black Mask. Anger, pain, disappointment, guilt takes up space in his psyche and distracts him from the fight against his former partner. Yet, his determination to save him never wavered, even if he has to drag the young man back screaming and kicking. Locking Jason up to receive the help he needs is better than him dying again or have him go on to commit further crimes.

Batman dives toward the ground to dodge a barrage of shots. Real bullets. Even if the Batsuit is 95% bulletproof, there are certain cracks in the armour, so to speak, and the boy knows them all. Besides, judging by the impact on the ground, these are custom-made bullets: titanium composite hollow point with a C4 kicker, to be exact. Batman isn’t eager to find out what kind of damage they can do to him.

Black Mask’s vast office is sparse, there’s no furniture here that can cover him from the incoming fire. Another round of bullets miss him, but just barely. He returns a succession of three Batarangs. Unlike a bullet that goes in a straight line, the Batarangs carve a wide arc through the air, each slicing toward its target from a different angle.

He wasn’t counting on those to hit Jason; he fully expects his ex-sidekick to calculate the trajectories of the Batarangs and dodge accordingly. Just as Jason is intimately familiar with his moves, so is it the other way around. As Jason rolls out of the way of the flying projectiles, Batman dashes in and punches him in the gut.

He follows up with another jab to the side, but Jason twists out of the way and raises his gun to shoot. But with the change in their position, Roman is now behind Batman and risks getting hit if he dodges. The young man mumbles a curse and removes his finger from the trigger to bring the grip of the gun down on Batman’s head like a blunt weapon instead. Before the gun can make contact, Batman kicks him back and he smashes into the wall behind him before dropping down on his knees, breathless from the impact.

The longer they spend in close combat, the more convinced Batman is that something strange is at play here.

He’s fought him before—knows how he fights—and for some reason, Jason’s not fighting at his full strength. So far, he’s managed to land two solid hits, and Jason took them harder than expected. Even now, the young man struggles to stand up even with a hand bracing the wall behind him. There’s a certain stiffness in his movements, and his breathing is labored. The eyes half-hidden behind messy strands of hair are dazed, unfocused.

Without his red headgear, Red Hood is also fighting at a disadvantage. It makes him easier to stun with a well-placed blow. Batman lowers his gaze to the other gun, still untouched and in the holster on the young man’s thigh. Why is Jason only using one gun instead of his usual two?

Then there’s the crime boss himself, Black Mask, who Batman tries to keep within his peripheral vision even as he fought. Roman Sionis is a formidable fighter in his own right. Sure, he might not be able to best him in hand-to-hand combat, few could, but if he has a gun or some other projectile weapon, it will distract him enough to create openings for Jason to attack. Yet the man is still behind his desk, watching them fight, waiting.

Batman makes fists with his hands; he needs to end the fight soon. Jason’s stamina might be bleeding out fast, but that doesn’t lessen just how dangerous he is and the impact he has on him.

“You really had no idea, did you?” Jason coughs and spits out some blood, staining his teeth red even as he grins. “The world’s greatest detective getting doubled crossed! I’ve been biding my time, waiting for a chance to take you out...or did you honestly expect I’d go back to be your obedient little soldier again?”

Without waiting for a reply, Jason dashes forward with another onslaught of aggressive punches. There’s a desperation to his movements, even if there’s not enough force behind them to follow through for maximum damage. A blow glances his shoulder but Batman parries the rest with his gauntlet and strikes back. Jason raises his arms up to block, but the charged fist goes through his defense and hits him in the jaw, snapping his head backward. He yelps in pain and drops down to the ground, his breathing coming out ragged now. He tries to push himself up with unsteady hands, but Batman presses his boot on his lower back and drives him back down onto the floor.

“Stand down, Jason! You’ve lost.”

“After I kill you, I’m going after them all! Starting with Golden Boy!” Jason hisses back.

Something snaps in Bruce and he wraps his hand around the pale throat and lifts the struggling young man up by the neck. With his feet hovering inches above the ground, Jason digs his fingers into Batman’s arm, clawing, punching, trying desperately to break his hold. It doesn’t work. It will not be long until he loses consciousness from oxygen deprivation.

At this distance, Batman is unable to ignore the red bat on Jason’s chest. He narrows his eyes and scows. The last time they fought, Jason tased him with the built-in taser behind the emblem--resourceful if not exactly honorable. He had thought Red Hood wore the bat to represent his desire to be part of the family again, his willingness to toe the line. Instead, all he did was making a mockery of everything the symbol stands for. With his insulated gloves, Batman grips the red bat and rips it off in one swift pull.

Bruises.

Dark, angry bruises cover Jason’s exposed chest. Bite marks, scratches from rough fingers, even a shoe print on his ribs; the signs of torture are days old. A chill runs through him and Bruce loosens his grip. “Jason, I…”

The split second of distraction is all he needs and Jason kicks against Batman’s chest, forcing him to loosen his grip entirely and drop him onto the ground. He pulls out his gun--the one that had remained unused in the holster--and shoots Batman in the neck where the protective fabric is most flexible, thin. He doesn’t miss, especially not at this distance.

Pain explodes on his skin and begins to burrow _in_. Bruce screams as the sting becomes lava coursing through his veins. He looks to Jason who has dropped the gun onto the floor--a now-emptied injector gun--and is holding his head in pain. Jason’s eyes meet his briefly. For a moment, they are wide with clarity and panic, then they lose focus right before the young man falls onto the floor, like a marionette with its strings cut off.

Bruce takes a shaky step toward him as purple haze bleeds into his vision, then...then he doesn’t remember anything at all.

 

\-----------Present Day

 

Black Mask’s office has been burnt beyond recognition. Typing into the built-in system on his gauntlet, Batman infiltrates the GCPD’s database and pulls up files associated with this case. The investigation unit already picked up all the evidence they could find two days ago, but with the damage done to the interior of the office, they didn’t find much that would help pinpoint the perpetrator or their motives. Already, there are subtle signs in the reports that bureaucrats--potentially associated with Black Mask--are pressuring investigators to bury this case as an unfortunate business deal gone wrong.

Moving carefully through the debris, Batman scans the room for evidence. There are multiple bullet holes near the door, and he remembers Jason shooting those when they fought. He matches the marks on the wall with his recollection of the fight and finds them all accounted for. It seems as if his memory is gaining clarity as he continues to recall what happened two days ago.

As he continues to search for evidence, he notices something he missed on his first pass: a single bullet shot into the ceiling near the center of the room. It’s been obscured by the dark scorch marks near it and is easy to overlook it with the naked-eye. The bullet is still lodged into the ceiling material. Batman extracts a section of it along with the bullet and scans it for ballistic analysis.

 _Odd_. The trajectory of the bullet reveals that it was shot from directly underneath. Judging by the fresh spirals and grooves made by the bullet, it was shot recently and it matches the marks left by the many holes near the door. Yet, he doesn’t remember Jason firing this shot. Could it have happened during his memory blackout? Why was this shot fired? There are no other bullets nearby it, perhaps it’s a warning shot? Or a stray bullet fired during a close struggle with the gun?

He files the new and unanswered questions into the back of his mind for now and pulls out the arson report onto his gauntlet projector. One point of interest jumps out at him immediately: a fire alarm was pulled...before the explosion.

The person who pulled the alarm might be the same as the arsonist. An oral statement taken from an overnight custodian shows that the few of them gathered outside thinking it’s an unannounced fire drill before the first blast of the explosion went off, followed by the fire. It happened more than five minutes _after_ the alarm. Unfortunately, the fire had also destroyed the nearby security room, along with the surveillance videos of the office and all the backups.

Sionis’ corpse has already been taken to the GCPD morgue and only a crude chalk outline marks its location on the floor. The coroner’s initial report notes that the cadaver was burnt beyond recognition, but dental records match those of Roman Sionis. Batman chews on this information with a frown.

Black Mask wouldn’t be the first resourceful crime lord that fakes his own death by manipulating dental records or altering the teeth on a prepared cadaver. Even if that was the case, Batman can’t think of potential benefits for Sionis behind this action. The fire damage to the skin happened posthumously and the official cause of death was not the explosion nor the fire that followed, it was two bullets to the head, shot from behind, causing instant death...similar to how Jason killed those four men.

Crouching close to the floor, Batman starts scanning for other evidence he might’ve missed when a movement just out of the corner of his eyes startles him. Twisting around, he sees the blurry image of two figures: Black Mask and Jason.

They are on the floor with Black Mask on top of Jason, who is completely nude. It’s like viewing a scene underwater, the vision distorts and wavers. A sickening chill spreads in his gut as he realizes that Black Mask is _in_ Jason, fucking him into the floor. Neither of them paid Batman any attention as if he wasn’t there. Bruce almost looks away, wishing for the intrusive vision to evaporate, but then he steels his resolve. Perhaps the scene will reveal clues to what happened after he blacked out.

It’s a surreal scene. With eyes bright with passion, Jason wraps his legs around Black Mask’s waist and pulls him in closer, _deeper_. His voice is raspy with eagerness as he begs for more, and Roman obliges, rocking into the body beneath him with wild abandon. Then Jason is arching his back in ecstasy and moaning, “Fuck yes, Roman, please—” as the crime lord plants a possessive kiss on his lips and increases his tempo.

The scene before him lasts mere seconds but felt like hours. As Batman squints to concentrate on the obscenity, it fades away like ash.

Taking a step back and blinking hard, Bruce tries to remain calm and analyses what he saw. A vision or a hallucination, perhaps? Maybe it’s a visual manifestation of his fear of Jason and Black Mask partnering together, even if the interpretation is literal and lewd. He grits his teeth in anger at the useless vulgarity his mind conjured. No, enough wasted time on nightmares and visions, hard evidence is the only thing that will lead him to Jason and the truth.

With a swirl of his cape, Batman turns to leave for his next destination.

 

\--------

 

He drops down to the entrance of the hideout that Jason refurbished from an old bomb shelter. He’s been here once before, after their confrontation that ended with Jason shooting the mayor on TV. After realizing that the mayor was, in fact, alive in the hospital, he came to confront Jason, who, predictably was upset he didn’t trust him enough to handle the case his way.

A tall request. It’s not a matter of trust, it’s about plans and backup plans. It’s about preparing for the worst case scenario because someone has to be. _Needs_ to be. Batman has devised a plan to combat and imprison (and if necessary, eliminate) every single member of the Justice League. He even has plans and fail-safe against himself. Bruce Wayne would like to trust his family, but trust is a luxury _Batman_ cannot afford. Perhaps even Jason knows that, but knowing something and accepting it are two separate things.

This base of operation is where Alfred found him two days ago, unconscious but unharmed. Currently, the place is ransacked like someone had packed and left in a hurry. The space itself seems to be inspired by the Batcave with a powerful computer and its monitors as the centerpiece. Then a shelve of spare equipment and ammo storage off to the side, and some limited personal items on the far end along with an utilitarian cot in the corner.

The computer monitors are shattered with a bullet in each screen, yet Batman still turns on the system to try and access information. The main hard drive is fried. He tries several methods of scanning for backup files and finds that everything had been thoroughly erased; Jason has cleaned up his trail well. With great effort, Bruce manages to suppress the smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. In the end, he settles on a sigh and steps away from the computer.

There’s no telling the amount of equipment and supplies Jason took with him. The last time he was here, he was only alone for mere minutes before Jason returned, and as such, he didn’t take inventory of the safehouse even if he wanted to. He did, however, notice the shelf of personal items on the initial visit. The lower shelf stores a respectable collection of classic books. Eager to foster his interest in reading, both Bruce and Alfred had given the boy first-edition copies of their favorite classics. Those books are still sitting on the shelves in Jason’s old bedroom in the manor, the way he left it. The ones here are just ordinary prints, but Bruce can recognize many of the same titles.

Above the row of books are some other sentimental items--a collection of “trophies”--even if the size and amount are dwarfed by the ones in the Batcave. Yet, here they serve the same purpose, as Batman recalls telling Jason a lifetime ago that _“they’re touchstones. A way to keep track of where you’ve been...so you don’t lose your way to where you’re going._ ”

The largest item is a detached wheel from the Batmobile, and the sight of it almost brings a wistful smile to Bruce’s face. The first time he met the boy--in the process of stealing the wheel, no less--he was skinny from malnutrition and living on the street. Yet, the kid had a fire in him that could not be restrained by his size. Bruce felt the heat of it as he lifted the boy by the back of his tattered shirt and he fought back like a startled cat, biting and scratching all he could reach. His movements might’ve been unrefined then, but he showed more bravery than a lot of the criminals Batman had faced.

The tall and lethal young man looks very different from the boy he found on the street, but the same fire remains...and it still burns him when he’s not careful.

Besides the wheel is a frame encasing a photo Alfred took of them years ago, currently picture-side down. Bruce isn’t sure if the frame was placed down intentionally or accidentally knocked over during packing. When he noticed it during his first visit, he was surprised Jason even printed a copy of the photo for display.

Bruce fixes the frame and returns it to its original position. It’s strange to stare at this particular moment captured in time, this rare memorabilia of Jason’s “graduation”. They both look younger, of course. Jason’s face still has the roundness of youth as he grins in his new Robin uniform, clueless about what future fate has in store for him. If the teenager in the photograph could somehow know that he would die in pain, alone, waiting for help that would never arrive...would he have thrown the uniform back and curse the day he met him?

The smile on the younger Batman’s face looks genuine, yet foreign. Bruce wonders if _he_ had known that one of them would die an ugly, premature death, would he still have gone on to train _any_ Robin at all? God, even he was young and naive once. It’s no use lingering over ‘what if’s’ and he puts the frame back the way he found it, photo-side down and out of sight.

Jason must’ve planned to be in this underground hideout for an extended period of time to even store these personal items here. Bruce remembers how impressed the boy was at the collection in the Batcave when he first brought him there. A museum of curiosities with the large penny, the T-Rex, and the giant Joker card, each with a wild case behind them...which child wouldn’t be impressed?

As a way to reinvigorate the boy after a particularly grueling and disheartening training session, Bruce had recounted the stories behind each trophy in the cave. Jason listened with eyes shiny with childish glee, but as the tour went on, that brilliance disappeared and was replaced by a dark storm.

“You’re thinking about him, aren’t you--the previous Robin?” the boy asked with a piercing gaze, just daring him to deny it. “We’re surrounded by tokens, records of your memories with him...but I’m not him. And I don’t know if I ever could be.”

Bruce knew what brought that on. It’s true, the boy couldn’t dodge fast enough, couldn’t reach far enough, couldn’t jump high enough...not yet, anyway. He knew Jason wouldn’t be like Dick who had gymnastics in his blood and started training before he could walk. Perhaps that’s why he pushed Jason so hard when they train, to make sure he would be ready to fight by his side.

“Will I have to pass a test? What if I’m not good enough to become Robin?” the boy asked with sudden urgency. “What happens if I fail? You gonna send me back onto the streets?”

Before Bruce could reply, the boy snapped his head up. There was a glint of viciousness in his eyes as he threatened, “If you kick me out, I’ll tell everyone Batman’s true identity!”

A threat from the child wasn’t so much worrisome as it was disappointing. He doesn’t remember what he said in reply, but whatever Jason saw in his face had him immediately backing down. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that,” he whispered with his head down. “I’ll try harder, I promise.”

Batman does remember what he said after that.

“Some things will not come as naturally to you, Jason, that’s to be expected. And maybe you will never be as swift as Dick or fight as well as him, even if you train just as hard. Or maybe you will; we don’t know yet. What I _do_ know is that you will be amazing in your own way,” Bruce said, tilting the boy’s chin up to look him in the eye. “And for whatever reason, even if you never become Robin, you will always be my son.”

The boy’s lips quivered then and he started sobbing. Hot tears poured down his face as he burrowed into the man’s opened arms. Bruce remembers that moment clearly. It was the first time he thought perhaps _Bruce Wayne_ could do more good for this child than Batman. Unlike Dick who needed a way to channel his destructive desire for revenge into something more productive, all Jason needed was someone he could trust and a stable life.

That was the first time Jason cried so openly before him. But even those tears weren’t as memorable as the ones from their reunion years later after he returned from the dead and forced him to justify why he didn’t kill the Joker to avenge him. “I want him dead, maybe more than I’ve ever wanted anything,” Batman confessed. “But if I do that, if I allow myself to go down into that place...I’ll never come back.”

Back then, tears rolled down Jason’s face as he refused to accept Batman’s explanation. As if Batman’s moral code was somehow a reflection of his value, a rejection. Jason went as far as preparing to die again just to force him into killing Joker. _That_ was the last time he saw Jason cry.

 _No...that’s not right._ Bruce corrects himself. _That wasn’t the last time._

He steadies himself with a hand on the shelf as an unexpected wave of disorientation crashes into him. That’s right, he _remembers_ seeing Jason cry more recently than that--but when was it? The need for clarity needles his mind. His brows are knit together in concentration as he tries to untangle the mess in his head. Then he shuts his eyes and sees it.

Jason. Jason with tears in his eyes making them look greener than usual, like the pools of Lazarus that brought him back to life. He’s lying on the ground, disheveled hair damp with sweat. A single tear rolls down the pain-streaked face and Batman sees himself reflected briefly in that droplet. Jason is repeating something weakly under his breath, and even if Bruce can’t hear him, he can read his lips.

“Please, Bruce, don’t remember this.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- The description of the custom bullets comes from Jason's ending in "Injustice2", where I guess the game needed to justify how a mere human with two guns can take out one of the most powerful aliens in the universe  
> \- Batman's explanation of why he didn't kill Joker was word for word lifted from the "Under the Red hood" movie  
> \- The plot point of Batman having a plan to take down every member of the Justice League was featured in the movie, "Justice League: Doom"


	4. Mind Games

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Batman finally drops down into the office he did so like a stormy shadow, with the rumbling promises of thunder to come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: please review the warning tags again for triggers.

 

\--------Some time ago in Sionis Industries

Black Mask ends the call without uttering a word; evidently, the henchman on the other end didn’t warrant that courtesy. He lowers the phone and straightens his back, and Jason knew what he’d say.

“Alright, he’s here. Ready to get the show started, sweetheart?”

“If I didn’t know better, Roman, I’d say it’s apprehension I hear in your voice,” Jason crosses his arms and smirks. “Don’t worry, I won't think less of you for it, if it’s even possible to have a lower opinion of you. Better men than you have faced Batman with their legs quivering. Still, I _am_ looking forward to the moment he wipes the floor with you.”

Perhaps he’s projecting just a bit. Despite sitting on the edge of Roman’s office desk in a casual, laid back pose, Jason’s heartbeat is thundering in his chest. Even if he’s not being physically restrained at the moment, he knows all it takes is just a single _thought_ from Roman to bring him down to his knees. He has experienced first-hand just how powerful the techno-organic virus is, and he knows that for all intents and purposes, he is a prisoner--no, a bait.

Jason told himself that this will never happen again. Never again would he be at the mercy of another homicidal maniac, and worse, waiting helplessly for Bruce to rescue him. Jason would like to think that he’s now leagues above the brash teenager that got himself killed, but the current situation says otherwise. Seems like he can’t keep promises even to himself.

Old memories resurface like bubbles filled with poisonous gas rising from a dark lake. He remembers lying on the ground of a nondescript warehouse and forcing himself to remain calm through broken bones and a collapsed lung for Bruce to come and save him.

The dying teenager had distracted himself with the thought of the inevitable lecture his father would give him once he arrives--can picture the scene so clearly down to the lines of his scowl. The mental image dispelled his fear somewhat, but then it came back in full force. In that dark warehouse, that teenager realized the truth. There will be no going back home to Alfred’s homemade meals. No. He’s not even going to see Bruce again because he’s about to die there, alone.

And died, he did.

This time though, it doesn’t seem like his captor intends to kill him. Although he’s sure whatever fate Black Mask has planned for him, death will be preferable. He steals a glance at the masked man and remembers his vow of “destroying Batman”. God, he hopes Bruce will be able to see the obvious trap for what it is. Yet, the “world’s best detective” has some unexpected blind spots. He would know; he’s used them against him when he first came back to Gotham from the dead.

A part of him wonders how much lecture he’d have to tune-out for his latest failure. God, he can hear the words now. Careless and sloppy! He should’ve known better! The entire undercover operation was reckless, he should’ve known that Black Mask wouldn’t fall for his act!

Jason hopes Bruce would at least keep the rescue from the rest of the family; the others will not let him live it down. It’s embarrassing enough just to explain what happened to him while he was held captive.

Will he be able to hide what happened to him from Bruce? He doubts it. The evidence is quite clear, if you know where to look. The real question is, would Bruce confront him about it? Or would it become just another elephant in the room that neither would acknowledge? He could fill a zoo with all the issues they both turn a blind eye on. It’s better that way. Jason doesn’t want Bruce to treat him any differently. Sometimes, he wishes everything could go back to the way it was before when the world was _simpler_.   

Black Mask snarls out loud in response to Jason’s earlier comment. The man strolls over to where he’s sitting and runs a hand down his thigh, squeezing muscles in warning.

“I leave you untouched for a few days and you’re back to giving me attitude already. There’s still some time before the Bat shows up. Would you like a reminder of your current predicament?”

Jason leans _into_ the offending hand and glares back. “What? You think that the _threat_ of a repeat performance by a new set of your goons is gonna put me in my place? Do you really think gang rape is the worst thing someone has done to me? No, Black Mask, afraid you can’t top that one. Anything else is just dessert.”

Roman stares impassively at him and snorts, “You sound pretty sure of yourself, but be it as it may, you should still try and stay focused. Batman’s coming. And before he can lay a finger on me, he’s going to have to get through you first. I bet he’s none too pleased about our little home video.”

“Oh boy, _that’s_ your plan?” Jason’s bark of laughter rings through the spacious office. “Honestly, it’s flattering that you hold my combat abilities in such high-esteem, but just so you know, I’ve never beaten Batman head-on...And trust me, I’ve tried.”

“Then put your talented mouth to good use.”

He flinches. The crime lord pats his thigh patronizingly and elaborates, “Unbalance him with _words_ , Jason. You’ve got such a rich history together, after all, I’m sure you know exactly what to say to make him bleed.”

The problem is, Jason _does_ know. With the virus, Roman only needs to give him the goal, the objective, and he can’t help but try and achieve it. He knows _exactly_ what to say to hurt Bruce and unbalance him...maybe even enough to give him an edge during combat. He looks away and changes the subject.

“If you want me beat him, or at least put up a fight while you make your escape, you should return my headgear.”

“We wouldn’t want to hide your pretty face behind that helmet, do we?” Roman tilts Jason’s chin up with his fingers. “No, let him get a good look at you.”

“You know you’re just setting me up for failure, right? Or is your plan? Watch me get beaten into the ground while you enjoy the show?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”

 

\--------

When Batman finally drops down into the office he did so like a stormy shadow, with the rumbling promises of thunder to come. He scowls at the sight of them--Jason lounging on the edge of the desk and Roman in his leather chair behind it--and shifts into a defensive position with batarangs in one hand, ready for battle.

By then, Roman’s controls have returned like purple tendrils hooking into his mind, but even that doesn’t stop the feeling of rising disappointment. So, Bruce isn’t here on a rescue mission. No, the waves of righteous anger rolling off the caped crusader can only mean one thing: Batman is here to bring him in for murder. Just perfect.

It was naive, wishful thinking for him to expect otherwise. Bruce did tell him, any life, for _any_ reason, after all. Not much of a wiggle room there.

So when Bruce, being his paranoid self, asked him to prove that he’s who he says he is, Jason is all too willing to let him have it.

They say the best lies contain kernels of truth.

On the surface, Batman’s stoic facade is impeccable as ever, but Jason knows better. He knows his words struck true. It’s subtle--the tension in the facial muscle around his lips and jaw, a slight, sharp intake of breath--signs that others might miss but not him. He knows that the truth behind the bomb under the Batmobile is making him second guess what he thought he knew about his wayward son. The son who could’ve ended him all those years ago with a push of a button.

“You did not deserve such an easy death,” Jason explains with a gun aimed at his face.

It’s a lot like watching himself in a lucid dream. The words are his, the memories of the events are his, but they’re guided by Roman’s grand design. At least he gets to decide the best way to achieve the goal of his puppet master.  

Jason knows he should feel guilty for the rush of _satisfaction_ coursing through his veins as he sees the mix of emotions Bruce tries to conceal...but he doesn’t. He drinks it in, and it quenches something deep inside him that he had not expected. It’s not very often he gets the upper hand fighting Bruce, but it goes beyond that.

While it might be Roman forcing him to dredge up whatever bad blood there is between him and Bruce, the truth is, it’s been long coming. He never told Bruce about the bomb even after he was accepted back into the family because he didn’t want to upset the shaky equilibrium that took so long to rebuild. But it seems like no matter how much he proves himself--risking his neck and skin _for_ the family, and abiding by his bullshit rules--Bruce will always default to doubting him.

Of course. It’s the same goddamn scowl on his face, the one he knows so well. The same one back when Jason still wore the green shorts and yellow cape and Batman asked him if he _murdered_ a rapist by pushing him off a seven-story balcony. It didn’t matter what he said back then either; Bruce had already made up his mind. Disappointment and doubt.

_Some things never change, huh, old man?_

What Roman said was true. He could make Bruce bleed with just words. And really, there’s some comfort in that, Jason muses with a sad smile. Bruce must’ve cared somewhat if his words are having this kind of effect, even if the response is pain. It’s still better than indifference. He’ll take what he can get.

Unfortunately, beyond the verbal sucker punches, the actual physical combat is fairly one-sided. Roman can command him to fight all he wants, but winning is another matter altogether. The distractions help, but Bruce has had to take in far more shocking revelations mid-battle—like finding out the new mass murderer in Gotham is his dead son, for example—and still managed to come out on top.

Jason groans as Batman lands a punch in his gut, knocking the breath out of him.

If Roman’s plan was for him to fight Batman, maybe he shouldn’t have let his men use him like a disposable blow-up sex doll, fuck! Even if Roman did let him rest and recover while they waited for Batman to show up, it’s not making enough of a difference right now. He’s sore all over. His joints are stiff and certain movements just _hurt_. Hell, it hurts just to breathe!

Too slow! Another slight miscalculation results in Batman kicking him solidly in the torso with enough force to send him crashing into the wall behind him. The impact made him dizzy with pain and Jason drops to his knees, heaving. The taste of copper lingers in his mouth, he must’ve bitten his tongue upon impact.

Man, Bruce sure isn’t pulling his punches. Just like the good old days. Jason still has scars from their previous fights, and he wears them proudly, but perhaps right now is not the best time for a rematch.

He wants to stop, to curl up on the ground and close his eyes and rest. Yet, the touch of the purple haze is persistent. His puppet master urges him to continue the fight, so he does. Jason braces a hand against the wall and pushes himself back on his feet to face Batman. Another futile exchange of punches and he’s back down on the ground again, this time with Bruce’s boot on his lower back, pinning him there.

“Stand down, Jason! You’ve lost.”

“After I kill you, I’m going after them all! Starting with Golden Boy!” he hisses back.

Fingers shoot out and grab him by the throat, choking him. Jason struggles as his feet leave solid ground.

This is what makes Batman snap? The truth behind the bomb, believing that he hates him enough to want him dead, and the sight of Black Mask and him “working together” doesn’t compare to a vague threat thrown at the Golden Boy. Should’ve started with that! Jason would’ve laughed if he could breathe. He would’ve laughed if it didn’t hurt so much.

Panic takes him. He claws his fingers into Batman’s arm in an effort to break free, but it doesn’t work. Jason can feel his strength bleed out along with his consciousness. It won’t be long until he passes out from oxygen deprivation.

From the corner of his eyes, he sees Roman sitting in the same position behind his desk. Perhaps he’s wrong about his plans, after all. Perhaps Roman is going to just sit there and watch Batman slowly squeeze the life out of him. Wouldn’t that be funny? Bruce finally snaps and kills someone, and it’s the one person who begged him to cross the damn line in the first place. He wouldn’t kill Joker or Penguin or a whole long list of evil filth, no, he’s going to kill him.

Jason knows he should be furious at the injustice of it all, but right now, even that emotion requires more energy than he can summon. He stops fighting. All that’s left, all he wants now is for Bruce to look him in the eyes as he suffocates him. It’s the least he can do. But even that is too much to ask from him, apparently.

Bruce seems fixated at the red bat symbol on his chest, the one he told Roman he’s only wearing so he can yank Batman’s chains. With a growl, Bruce rips the bat sigil off, exposing his chest. Then, he freezes.

“Jason, I…”

He never finds out what Bruce was going to say, because that split second of distraction was all he needed to kick back, forcing Bruce to drop him onto the ground. Jason’s still sputtering, his lungs burning as oxygen rushes back in when Roman issues a new command. His mind doesn’t even fully comprehend what’s happening until he’s already pressing the injection gun against Bruce’s neck...the injection containing the same virus Roman has been using to control him. He drops the empty weapon with shaky fingers.

At the exact moment Jason can feel Roman’s control starting to ease up, Bruce staggers backward with a grunt and drops to one knee. _No._ The tingling purple haze that enshrouded his mind for so long dissipates completely and he regains full control with shocking clarity. Seems like Roman can only control one person at a time. Jason hopes that’s an unexpected discovery for him as well.

He rushes to Bruce who’s holding his head in pain. Already, his steel-blue eyes are staring into the distance, lost. Jason doesn’t know how long it takes for the virus to take effect, but there’s no time to waste. He turns to face his true enemy.

Roman finally leaves his place behind the desk and chuckles. “Well, it didn’t go exactly as planned, but things never do. Shit, you weren't kidding about never having beaten Batman. You look like a dog chewed you up and spit you back out. I got second-hand embarrassment watching your fight just now.”

“Well, even all beaten up as I am now, I’m still more than enough to take you down, Roman,” Jason reaches for his other gun—the one with the deadly bullets—and aims it at Black Mask. “Let’s see you mind control with a hole in your head.”

His finger is on the trigger, just a little bit more pressure and he can end it. He wills his finger to squeeze down, but even without someone meddling in his brain, Jason cannot. Bruce’s words, his warning echoes in his mind. _If you take one life_ — _for whatever reas---_

So absorbed in the dilemma before him, Jason missed the quick flash of dark cape until it was too late. Batman leaps before him and grabs his wrist, aiming it upwards just as he squeezes the trigger. A bullet is fired into the ceiling directly above them.

“Fight it, Batman!” Jason shouts as he struggles to regain control of his wrist.

“Nice try, sweetheart, but you know better than anyone the potency of the virus,” Roman tsks. “And unfortunately for you, Batman is much easier to control. Makes sense. The process is smoother when a mind is organized, logical, with none of your messy emotional turbulence interfering with the commands.”

Fuck it. Jason loosens his grip on the gun and pulls free from Bruce. He doesn’t need a gun to deal with Black Mask, he’s going to break his fucking neck with his bare hands! Just as he springs over the office desk between them, a vice-like grip grabs him by the ankle and jerks him back, slamming him head first into the desk.

 

\--------

In the darkness, there is nothing, not even the sense of himself. Perhaps that’s what it was like when he died the first time; just consciousness drifting in the vast darkness. Cold. The first sensation to return. He’s freezing. Then swiftly following that, pain.

Jason opens his eyes and groans. He’s not sure how long he’s been out, just that his whole body aches with pain, especially his head. Not unsurprising, all things considered. The cold, though? Probably because he’s lying on the floor, completely stripped. Just like that, he snaps to full awareness and tries to sit up.

Strong arm pins him in place, and he realizes that Batman, _Bruce_ , is hovering between his spread thighs. Then he feels it; lubed fingers thrusting into him in a steady rhythm, loosening his entrance. Jason is so stunned that he forgets to scream.  

“Oh good, you’re awake,” Roman comments casually. Jason twists his head to see that the man has moved his chair next to them so he can observe at his leisure. “I was afraid you’d miss the main event.”

“Why are--” he starts asking, but then a shift in Bruce’s movement distracted him. He’s still wearing the Batsuit, cowl and all, but after fidgeting for a moment, he frees his cock from an opening. There’s no mistaking it; he’s hard as a rock. A wave of nausea washes over Jason and he can’t even finish the rest of his sentence.

Roman answers the half-spoken question. “That story you mentioned, about trying to kill him years ago--”

“I only said that to unbalance him for the fight, I didn’t--”

“So why _didn’t_ you trigger the bomb back then? Was it not like you said, that a quick and clean death is more than he deserved? Honestly, I’m kinda impressed.”

“It’s different now. _I’m_ different. You wouldn’t understand.”

“Well, I think there’s some truth in what you said, even if you didn’t realize it. And I figured it wouldn’t be right if I didn’t give you two the chance to reconcile and make up before the end, hmm?”

“Roman, you sick fuck,” Jason begins to shout. He tries to twist away by bringing his legs together and pushing his knees up against Bruce’s crushing weight. “I’m gonna kill--”

Without warning, Bruce backhands him across the face.

“Careful now,” Roman warns. “I don’t have perfect control over his strength yet. He hits hard, as I’m sure you’re well aware. Wouldn’t want to accidentally break you beyond repair, do we?”

The slap across his face made the room spin, and Jason swallows the blood in his mouth with great difficulty. There are a total of two wrestling maneuvers he can use to get out from under Bruce...And even if he can break free for a moment, then what? If he thinks fighting Batman earlier was tough, he’s in an even worse condition now with Roman controlling Bruce.

He shuts his eyes as Bruce shifts again, lifting one leg over muscled shoulder. Jason whimpers as he feels a hot, persistent pressure nudging against his entrance. “Please, please don’t do this,” he pleads to Bruce, to Roman, to anyone who would listen. Still, Bruce’s icy blue eyes stare back at him, revealing nothing, recognizing nothing. Jason begs again, his body trembling with panic.  

“Even when there were four men passing you around, making you their whore, you didn’t beg,” Roman observes idly from his chair. “I wonder why he’s different?”

Then Bruce thrusts into him and he arches his back and screams. The burn of the stretch only amplifies as Bruce pulls out slightly before thrusting all the way in. Again, and again.

“Please, Bruce, don’t remember this,” Jason mouths the words in a daze as tears roll down his pain-streaked face.

A warm hand reaches up to cup his face. Bruce. Bruce is looking down at him, concern written all over his face. “Jay...” he says his name like he’s asking for permission. “Jay.”

No one has ever said his name like that before, and it opens up a new wound. Bruce’s usual gravel voice sounds even rougher as it’s tinted with restrained lust and tenderness. He repeats his name again before leaning down to kiss him. For a moment, Jason loses himself.

Bruce’s lips are soft, in stark contrast with the stubble on his face. It tickles. The scent of him is familiar and comforting, blood and sweat included. It brings back old memories of going home after a night out on patrol. Bruce continues his unrelenting pace of rocking into him, but the initial pain transformed into something quite different. The rest of the world fades, only they remain. And Bruce continues to plant sweet kisses on his lips and cheeks.

Jason finds himself returning a kiss with the same intensity. He wonders if Bruce is fighting against Black Mask’s control, breaking free of it, even. That he’s trying to comfort him in the only way he could, reassuring him that everything will be okay. Then Bruce raises a hand to wipe away a stray tear from the corner of his eye, and Jason’s blood runs cold.

This isn’t Bruce. He remembers a similar gesture from Roman back when he was raped by his men, and somehow, even after everything, controlling Bruce to repeat the same action while kissing him is the worst thing he’s done so far. And he’s back onto the floor of the office again, fully aware of Roman watching them nearby. Even when Roman isn’t controlling his mind, he still enjoys fucking with it. Just one of his sick games.

With a soft grunt, Bruce lifts Jason’s other leg over his shoulder and increases his tempo. In this new position, the bat symbol on his suit is directly across Jason’s line of sight. It reminds him of the one Bruce ripped off his chest earlier, and he can’t help but feel cold anger rising within him.

He can’t see Bruce’s face anymore, just the bat. And isn’t that what he is? Bruce is only a mask Batman wears, after all. Isn’t that what’s fucking him? Fucking him and fucking up his life. If it weren’t for Batman, he would have shot Roman in the face a long time ago. And look at the path all his noble bullshit led him down. And after all this...after all this, he’s not even going to remember fucking him.  

He wishes he never met Batman. That’s the thought on his mind when Batman thrusts into him one final time and came.

 

\--------

“Well, time to end this,” Roman says, standing up from his chair. In his hand is the gun Jason dropped earlier.

Jason pushes Batman off him. He doesn’t resist. In fact, Batman just rolls off to the side like a marionette with its strings cut. “Wait,” Jason turns to Roman, his voice still hoarse from screaming earlier. “It should be me. Let me be the one to kill him.”

Black Mask laughs and shakes his head, “Please, I wasn’t born yesterday. The second I hand you the gun, you’d turn it on me.”

“I should be the one to kill him,” Jason repeats. “It should be me.”

Roman kneels down to Jason’s eye level and chuckles, “I never said I was going to _kill_ him, sweetheart. I’m going to do something far worse.”

 

 


End file.
